Christine's walking & birds blog

We're not on lockdown yet, so we drove to Loch Glascarnoch. The lay-by was empty, and we walked across the dam and a short way along the track and back again without meeting anyone else.

A bird on a distant boulder provided my first picture of the year of a meadow pipit.


It flew off up the hill as we approached, and above it, we spotted two stonechats perching in birch saplings. Greger alerted me to what sounded like a low trill; we could see nothing at first, and after wondering what it could be, I suggested frogs. Further on we saw frogspawn - but it didn't look healthy.


The trouble is that the ditch is drying out, so the top part of the spawn is probably not viable. Even if the eggs survive, the tadpoles have to hatch out into water; it looks as though this was a waste of time and effort. We saw more of this crumpled spawn and then some that looked healthy, in a deeper part of the ditch; but more rain is needed for it to stand a chance.

Ravens are once again nesting above the face of the dam.

We stopped for a short walk on the drive home and I spotted some coltsfoot among the ivy; Greger, who was ahead, actually came back to take a look. He's not usually interested in plants, but this is one of Sweden's first wildflowers of spring, and is known there by its scientific name of tusillago.


As we drove into Ullapool, a large plume of smoke rose from the north of the village. When I went out again for a walk round the spit, I could see the extent of the fire.


Fires are horrible, but also mesmerising. As I watched (along with several others who were keeping a distance from each other) flames suddenly shot up high above the conifers.


After all the rain that fell in February, you wouldn't think it would be dry enough for a fire to take hold in such a way - but it was also being fanned by a terrific wind which, further out on the spit, nearly took my legs from under me. This wind also caused the Stornoway ferry to cancel its second sailing of the day.

High on the slope, firemen were battling the fire with a hose they'd dragged up there while others appeared to be trying to beat out the flames.


A familiar call reminded me that I'd come here to look for birds, and a scan of the exposed rocks and seaweed revealed a redshank.


I didn't try to get closer because I didn't want to drive the wader back up into those awful winds, so I took what shelter I could behind a gorse bush and took a record shot while the camera and I were buffeted hither and thither. Not the most exciting bird, but, like the humble coltsfoot, another small and uplifting sign of the impending spring in these uncertain and depressing times.